


here in your arms

by kookseok



Category: GOT7
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 80's, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Canon, Cliche all the cliche's, Dreams vs. Reality, Firsts, Fluff, M/M, Pre-Established Relationships, broken relationships, domestic cuteness, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2016-06-25
Packaged: 2018-05-01 02:49:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 7,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5189285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kookseok/pseuds/kookseok
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>series of drabbles or oneshots surrounding markjae & jackjae</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 01. ? feat. youngjae's foot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ? feat. youngjae's foot
> 
> mark / youngjae

youngjae is _tired_. 

through all the bustle of schedules and traveling there has been only one thing on his mind, and that one thing pertains to a certain someone who he misses quite terribly. sure, they have some fleeting moments in-between, a few sly kisses when no one is looking but what youngjae misses most is enveloping himself in the pulling comfort that is mark tuan. 

he misses being able to bury his head in the hallow of mark’s neck, nestling himself close as his arms wrap around his waist. he misses draping his legs across his lap and having mark’s hand lie onto his thigh, thumb idly tracing circles across his jeans. the quiet that would settle over them like a morning fog, slow and lingering in its presence. it used to be a natural occurrence, stemming from comfortable silences and understanding looks, that they would seek solace in the arms of one another. 

youngjae’s grown accustomed to it, and finds that it’s moments like these when he’s by his lonesome that he mourns their lack of contact and time alone.

he’s sitting on the couch, filing through his notifications with half-lidded eyes that someone sits next to him, the cushion his head resting on dipping. he feels pieces of hair flop back but soon there are fingers carding through his strands and he can’t help but look up. 

“hey there, sleepy head,” mark whispers, soft and caring. youngjae’s heart does a few flips in tandem to the summersaults in his stomach, almost leaping up into mark’s lap but prevents himself from doing so for the sake of composure and the fact his legs feel like jello—a common thing these days.

mark’s fingers leave tingles down youngjae’s spine, igniting a warmth that spreads evenly throughout him. it splays against every nerve, shivers riveting and leaving goosebumps against his skin. there was something oddly satisfying about the feeling that came with people playing with his hair. youngjae, naturally fond of affection, finds there’s something a little more personal about someone playing with the strands of his hair, brushing them to the side and the slight graze of a fingertip against his forehead. although, youngjae weak to anything mark related, finds he is most pliable under his gentle hands. 

however, the warmth he seeks comes in another form, so he musters up whatever energy he has left and pulls himself up, settling close by mark’s side. mark doesn’t seem to notice, seemingly lost in his phone and youngjae places his chin on mark’s shoulder, arm wrapping around his waist. 

“want to take a pic?” mark says, turning to look at youngjae, who’s drifting off in a fit of sleep. before youngjae can protest, mark holds his phone up, making a peace sign and just before he takes the pic, youngjae flings his leg out into the shot, slipper still on and all. mark chuckles and decides to keep it, leaning his head against youngjae who’s slightly intrigued by the shot. 

“feat. youngjae’s foot,” youngjae reads aloud, blinking to make sure he’s read it right. he tightens his hold on mark, who smells _really_ good and it just makes youngjae want to wrap himself around him in some sort of death grip mixed with the affection of a snoozing koala bear, there is no in-between. 

“i think it’s funny,” mark adds, posting it to his instagram and within seconds he receives a new flock of notifications. he filters through some of them, making both of them laugh and youngjae feels the solemn waves of sleep permeate through his last grasp on reality, fingers loosing their grip on mark’s sweatshirt as dreams sprout in the ground of youngjae’s mind. the last thing he feels, though, is mark’s arms wrap around him, tender in their care as they hold him close. 

youngjae dreams of good things.


	2. you're the sweetest dill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a small drabble i wrote set in the same universe as "a premature pickle" but can definitely be read on it's own.
> 
> jackson / youngjae

youngjae and jackson are still in the beginnings of their relationship, soft and sweet but all the more wild in its nature the more youngjae gets the know the man. jackson is a good person, check all of the above, and easy to be around. he makes youngjae feel good, and not just about the big things but also the smaller things like himself and his ever so fluctuating personality. jackson was a much needed pause in the constant rush of time.  jackson was care-free and not bound by rules, and youngjae, who encompasses such, finds relief in his presence. 

the glaring difference between the two of them was that jackson was a natural born socialite, and youngjae, not quite versed in the language of social butterflies, wonders often if he can be understood through that barrier that stands between them. 

however, on nights like these when youngjae is snuggled up into jackson’s side as they watch a movie, he pushes all those thoughts out the window. his arm is draped casually around jackson’s waist who holds the laptop on a pillow on his lap. there is minimal movement involved because otherwise the screen jiggles and jackson gets scolded. movie time is important time not to be wasted, attractive boyfriend or not. 

they’re watching a classic (eight legged freaks that just so happened to show on youngjae’s recommended on netflix) and all of jackson’s futile efforts to object were gone to naught when youngjae tried his best to pout, promising it was more a comedy than a horror. jackson had just sighed dramatically and youngjae pecked him on the cheek in thanks. 

“these graphics are terrible,” jackson whispers, entwining his hand with youngjae’s. they’re well into the movie but youngjae can’t seem to concentrate whenever he’s this close.

“it came out in 2002, what more did you expect?” youngjae chuckles, but jackson completely disregards it. 

“i was eight then,” jackson says. “and still afraid of bugs.”

“and now you’re well over the age of adulthood and you still call me to kill a bug for you.”

“okay, first of all, mark wasn’t home. and second, i swear mark did it on purpose because i cock blocked him the previous day,” jackson poorly refutes. “and that was only the second time i had called.”

youngjae scoffs. “you make it sound like you’re having a life or death crises. i literally _ran_ from class because that day because i thought something had happened to you.”

“it _was_ a life or death crises!” jackson imparts. “that spider came at me with a purpose and that was to end my life. headlines would have had a field day: ‘jackson wang, mauled by spider. found dead and naked in dorm shower’.” 

youngjae cackles, head tossed back against the many pillows they had laid against the headrest (jaebum’s pillow included). youngjae, unbeknownst, to his inner being, hits jackson in the stomach in his fit of laughter, laptop falling backwards and onto the bed.

“but bugs are so tiny. they’re more afraid of you than you are of them,” youngjae replies, trying to catch his breath. 

jackson shakes his hand, gesturing wildly with his free hand, screams echo in the background, and youngjae can’t help but laugh. “that may be true but bugs also can do many of the following. one) they can fly, two) they can suck your blood and quite possible turn you into a mutant, take spiderman for example. okay, _no one_ looks good in spandex, lesson of the day. and three) they can be ginormous and just so happen to battle an equally as giant dinosaur in the middle of toyko, japan.” jackson dismisses the topic with a wave of his hand, ending with, “case closed.”

“i think you’d look great in spandex,” youngjae comments, right hand sneaking under jackson’s loose tee and splaying against the soft skin by his navel. “i could be your mary jane.”

“oh really now?” jackson’s eyebrow quirks, turning on his side so he faces youngjae. “does this mean i should wear spandex more often?”

youngjae nods, a smirk on his face as he moves his hand to rest it against jackson’s hip, fingertips sliding under the band. he makes no motive to move further when he feels jackson’s hand wrap around his waist and pull him in snug against his chest and all the more warm. “only if i’m being saved in the process.”

“then it looks like i need to make an eBay purchase,” jackson replies.

youngjae chuckles, light and sweet. “kinky,” he says, 

“i like kinky,” jackson murmurs, eyes flitting to the purse of youngjae’s lips. 

youngjae has only kissed two people in his life: im jaebum (on accident and it was the most horrid moment of youngjae’s life), and jackson. although youngjae may kiss plenty more people in his life (not saying he will but life was an unsteady boat amongst the sea storm of reality), he finds that kissing jackson are his favorite moments. jackson was good at it and they could kiss for hours and youngjae would never tire of it. he loves the different variations of it, especially when he has the time and willingness to learn, but his favorite kisses are the ones that are firm and slow, deep and pulling, because those are the moments in which everything feels real. 

youngjae has been spending many of his firsts with jackson, and although he may be somewhat used to the male’s hands against the fleeting glimpses of his skin, the rush he feels whenever jackson softly presses his lips against his own only burns at a higher intensity. his heart starts to skip, unsure and uneasy, but the excitement boils and leaves him warm under the tender hands that is jackson.

however there are some moments (jackson poorly included) that remain youngjae’s _least_ favorites, and it’s moments like these when they’re interrupted before the wonderful downfall of it all.

“don’t even think about it,” jaebum speaks up, unplugged ear bud in his hand. 

youngjae sighs, digging his head deeper into the crook of jackson’s neck, cheeks flushed cherry red. leave it to jaebum to fuck over anything and everything. 

jackson whispers “hypocrite” when jaebum sticks his earbud back in, returning back to his work

the moment simmers on the back burner, however forgotten when jaebum keeps making his presence known, so they’re forced to watch the movie again, both refusing to rewind it. youngjae spends most of his movie watching time trying to ignore the flutter of his heartbeat and the many ways he’s going to murder im jaebum in his sleep.


	3. scientifically speaking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> who ever thought socks in bed would be such a hassle
> 
> jackson / youngjae

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for bi

jackson’s fluffing the pillows on his bed when youngjae comes strolling out of the hallway, toothbrush in hand and lips covered in white foam. he’s leaning against the doorframe, brushing away while jackson reaches for another pillow and starts patting it. “which side do you want to sleep on?” he asks, glancing up at youngjae.

“depends,” youngjae mumbles, white foam dripping onto his chin. he comes up and wipes it off and holds up one finger. he escapes into the bathroom, the sound of running water even apparent through the distance between them. he comes back in, toothbrush gone and padding over to the other side of the bed, helping jackson pull the sheets down. “are you the little spoon or the big spoon?”

jackson smirks. “big spoon, obviously.”

youngjae rolls his eyes. “either side then.” he crawls onto the bed, shoving his feet under the sheets and lying back onto the pillow. it’s the first time youngjae’s spent the night, but he has been on this bed before so he forgoes the formalities and welcomes its comforting presence. 

“what are you wearing?” jackson asks, still standing by the bedside with his grasp still firm on the bedsheets. he has the expression of shock, terror, utter disgust and youngjae can’t quite place its origin. 

youngjae’s confused, _beyond_ confused and a little worried. “…my pajamas?”

jackson walks over the edge of the bed, whipping the sheets off youngjae’s feet. “but what are _those_?” he points to youngjae’s clothed feet, the very bane of hell’s existence in the form of cotton. why did all good things have to come to an end? 

“what? my socks?” youngjae’s brow is furrowed, shifting his feet under the scrutinizing gaze of judgment leering at him from the bedside. he never knew he would feel so self conscious in a situation like this.

“yes, your socks.” jackson scoffs, as if youngjae just asked the most ridiculous question. “who wears socks to bed? that is just unethical.”

youngjae laughs, sitting up and pushing the blankets back down over his feet but jackson keeps his grip tight on the comforter. “i wear socks to bed. so what.”

jackson forces a smile. “take them off.”

“no, i wear them to keep my throat in good condition. i do sing for a living,”  youngjae clarifies, pulling on the comforter in hopes jackson will let go but alas, they’re playing tug-o-war over socks. youngjae starts to wonder how old they truly are. “scientifically speaking.” he tacts on for good measure. 

jackson lets out a cackle, fake and all the more demeaning in its nature. “what do your feet have to do with your throat!?” 

“if my feet are cold, my whole body will feel cold, so therefore i might end up catching a cold and that will detriment my throat.”  youngjae lets go of the blankets and lies back on the bed, forgoing his efforts and proving them futile when jackson keeps his grip firm. their difference in strength, in some situations, only made youngjae wave the white flag (and in other situations there is no white flag but it does require teamwork). 

jackson deeply inhales. “socks in bed are a disgrace to mankind. take off the socks, youngjae, or so help me god.”

youngjae narrows his eyes, pulls his feet up and lies on his side. “no,” he mumbles, shoving his hand under his pillow for support. 

there’s a moment of silence between them before youngjae can feel the comforter disappear because jackson’s ripped it off the bed and thrown it on the floor. he lunges for youngjae’s feet and, if he could be totally honest, he’s never screamed so loud before in his life. “leave me and my socks be!” youngjae squeaks, wrestling jackson on the bed who keeps trying to grasp his ankles to pull him close. 

“take them off, jae, or i will drag you off this bed and you’ll sleep on the floor!” jackson bellows, finally grabbing onto youngjae’s left foot and in one swift motion he rips the sock off and throws it across the room. 

“stop! what do you have against my socks?” youngjae spins, diving for the other side of the bed when jackson lets go to reach for the other foot. he’s huddled on one side, feet tucked under himself as he watches jackson start crawling slowly from the other side, a predatory look in his eyes. 

“sane people do _not_ wear socks in bed,” jackson replies. 

“sane people don’t criticize their boyfriends for wearing socks in bed!” youngjae reiterates, reaching for a pillow and throwing it at jackson, who catches it just as easily and tosses it to the side. youngjae makes a silent prayer to whatever power above that he will survive this, sock or no sock at this point. 

“jae, take off th—”

they both jump at the sound of the door busting open, mark standing in the doorway. “i’ve had three hours of sleep in the past thirty-four hours. if you don’t shut the fuck up you’ll _both_ be sleeping _outside_ , is that clear?” 

they both nod, caught in headlights at the sight of mark searing with anger. when mark says, “good” and closes the door, youngjae visibly relaxes and turns his attention back to jackson. 

“how about we compromise?” youngjae whispers, readjusting his legs underneath him because blood is pooling in the wrong areas and he can’t exactly feel his feet anymore. however, he can’t let his guard down because jackson is quick and he knows this from experience. 

“depends.” jackson brings his arms across his chest, a curiosity simmering as he watches youngjae. 

“okay,” youngjae starts. his left foot feels cold and the other feels warm and it’s the oddest sensation, but relationships were about compromise. “how about i wear one sock and we call it even?”

jackson raises a brow, silent as youngjae keeps trying to alleviate the pressure on his legs. “fine, but keep that socked foot far, far from my naked feet. you got it?”

youngjae nods. “got it.”

jackson sighs, reaching over the side of the bed for the comforter and throwing it back on, hands splaying against the cotton as he stretches it out. “good, i’m glad we came to a conclusion.”

“whatever, weirdo,” youngjae whispers, pulling the comforter over him and burying himself deep into its confines. he feels jackson settle in behind him after he turns off the light, pressing himself close and suddenly it doesn’t feel like they had a fight over his socked feet. so, naturally he starts to form some sort of forgiveness for jackson’s actions in his head as he goes over the whole ordeal but like all good things in life, it never lasts. 

“youngjae, your _foot_ is touching _my_ foot. how am i supposed to cuddle feet with you when you’re wearing a sock?” jackson whispers. 

youngjae closes his eyes and deeply inhales, resisting the urge to take off his other sock and strangle jackson with it. however, he just yanks his socked foot closer to the edge of the bed dramatically and feels jackson’s content sigh tickling the back of his neck.  

youngjae’s had many firsts in his life but boy, did this take the cake.


	4. it doesn't come easy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> inspired by **@poutychoi** 's tweet: "1 of the reasons I like markjae is bc while the other members make fun of Mk 4 being quiet yj told him that it's ok bc everyone is different" 
> 
> mark / youngjae

mark isn’t exactly the best at expressing his feelings. he’s not good at stringing words together to form sentences that would make any sense. he’s not good at telling people how he feels, or knows when to throw in a joke or two, but it wasn’t until his second year in university that he met someone that made him feel as though he’d spoken without truly speaking. it alleviated the stress he felt from his friends and how often they teased him about his mute personality. it’s just— he didn’t know what to say and when he managed to shred off a bit of that exterior and muster whatever bit of courage he had, the conversation had digressed. 

so he’s spent a good portion of his life keeping it all inside to brew and broil, never really giving it much attention after awhile. however, during his second year he met youngjae, someone who managed to do what mark couldn’t do with such grace that he found himself at a loss. “it’s okay,” youngjae had said during their third encounter, a small smile gracing his lips. “you don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to. _everyone’s different._ ”

it felt like everything mark had ever experienced suddenly lifted from his shoulders and _finally_ he could breathe with ease. he didn’t have to think twice about what he said or when the proper time to say something was just because he wanted them to know that he was listening. he’s had so many people withdraw him from their lives that talking had become a fear. it never came easy and even though mark had spent so long trying to perfect even just the smallest things, someone had always come along and managed to make him feel as though his words, what he felt, were nothing but footprints on a beach when the tide is rising. 

so when youngjae had come into his life, all eye creases and bright smile, mark had felt something stir in him. he wanted to try harder, speak louder, even though youngjae had no qualms about his silence. he wanted to believe they fit, like he found someone who knew everything about him without asking, because after a few more encounters a simple nod or small input was able to set youngjae off in a storm of outward thought. it was interesting, down to the last bit of it, to see someone able to do what mark had longed to do. he should have felt jealousy of some sort but there was this pull he felt the longer he stayed in youngjae’s presence that made him feel complete in a way—made him feel like a part of something greater; it was all he ever wanted.

what made mark feel the slow encumber of happiness though was during a cliche coffee endeavor when youngjae had asked him what he liked to do. it was the most basic question in the book— simplicity in its finest— but when mark started speaking youngjae gave him his full attention, paid close consideration to every detail. it was something mark had only ever experienced a few times in his life, because being _different_ was what made him a black sheep in a field of white. 

and the longer he stays by youngjae’s side the slow realization that difference is what makes him _him_ flourishes like blossoms during a early spring morning. youngjae never gets tired of it, not having an equally distributed conversation, and mark finds a comfort in that— finds a solace in the way youngjae is open and understanding down to the very core of his being. so when they have a conversation, unhinged and unadulterated, the silence that follows is never truly _silence_. that dead space becomes a touch or a look and mark doesn’t have to think about it. he doesn’t have to spend that time worrying that he’s done something wrong, or trying to think of what to say that will make them stay. he doesn't have to do any of that anymore.

youngjae becomes more than a sentence in his life— it’s as if mark is prose and youngjae is the dialogue in-between that completes it. 


	5. sea castles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> mark sees youngjae in a dream
> 
> mark-centric / youngjae

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was supposed to be a soulmate au i was working on but it only got as far as this.  
> maybe i'll come back to it.  
> inspired by **purity ring** s - sea castles

the first time mark sees _him_ is in a dream. 

he awakes at the base of a beach, a fog settled low over the crashing waves and the bitter taste of salt on his tongue. he pulls himself off the tender sand, granules swelling around his fingertips as his hands dig into the beach. tendrils of hair fall across his forehead, tickling him the slightest, so he brings a hand up and brushes it away, sand falling atop his nose. there are pillars of rock protruding from the water, waves lapping at its crevices as life hangs off its edges. he blinks and wiggles his toes in the sand as the ocean kisses his feet, bidding a silent farewell as it pulls back. he swallows, unsure in this obscurity and abstract environment. 

mark turns, his feet dipping in the puddle of sand his feet had made and almost falling. he braces himself, not for the fall but the outstretch of trees glazed across the horizon of an island, a flurry of green billowing in the breeze. his heart sinks; he never expected it to be like this. their colors range from one season to another, creating a picture that lines the walls of a gallery in the trope of a falling city. he’s heard of the many different places one plunges into, had expected himself to be the one pulling but low and behold, he’s the one on the other side of the rope.

he looks both ways, the outstretch of sand appearing as if it goes on for miles, but to his right there is a faint color of something red. it’s minuscule to the eye, barely apparent through the thick fog that starts to cascade around his shoulders and deep into the pockets of his sanity, curling along the beach the longer he stands there, life disappearing through the haze. there’s a whisper in the wind, a silent plea of curiosity purging his every nerve, and he fumbles through the dense sand. his breathing labors, chest heavy with the air of the sea and knees aching from the struggle. it’s there, stands triangular and off to the side—as if it was placed there for such a purpose, a distance away but all the more apparent in his widened eyes.

it’s a ruby red swing with its legs sinking into the sand, but what makes him heave a heavy sigh is the person swinging, humming a sweet melody saccharine to his ears. it’s reminiscent, something all too familiar that shakes mark down to the marrow of his bones. it stirs a part of his childhood only he would know, a tune confined to the space of his mind and had been forgotten since then. he stills when the person slows, catching sight of mark in the slight distance separating them. however, dreams unparalleled to the quota of time and their pace all the more painful, are quick in their nature. 

the last thing he hears is the whisper of his name and he wakes.


	6. empty calories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don’t think it ever stops hurting, giving somebody the best of you and watching them chose someone else.”
> 
> broken!youngjae / mark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspired by [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0s77yLAG8a8)

youngjae feels sorrow swallow him, consume what is left until he finds himself on the brink of blooming a fair spring of tears. it brings a prolonging ache to the marrow of his bones, his elbows bruised and beating heart wallowing in the pain that proceeds, unable to shake it off in the fits of his sleep. it continues, blossoms a darkness during this glaze of a sunny day, stain every last bit of resolve he may have had previous to all of this. it hurts, makes him wish he’d never let himself become knee deep in a love that only rids of him any remaining bit of sanity. 

it may have been all his fault, for thinking something good could have come from something _so great,_ and all for what? for feeling special? feeling one of a kind? it never works that way, does it? because as soon as he slips, tries to find his footing, he’s forgotten in the mass of regret and petty ignorance. he let the garden of first love grow tenderly at his feet to only realize the thorns prickling his bare ankles and scarring them red. 

he hates how sick he feels, how he can’t go a minute without thinking about _him_ , thinking about how everything just seemed to be one big lie—all smoke and mirrors. he hates how he can’t seem to stop crying, can't stop the tracks that tinge his cheeks and drip down onto his lap. he hates when a familiar song comes on and pulls him down into a melody of despair, and as he clutches onto that edge to try to climb his way back up, he starts to realize it hurts less if he just lets go because forgetting was the best cure. 

if he forgets about how much mark meant to him, forgets about how painful this all feels—ignores the throbbing ache that tinges his eyes red and fills his throat with pins and needles—then maybe something good can come out of it. maybe then, when he's finally forgotten, ripped the memories from his mind and torn them to shreds, then maybe he can finally find proper footing. he can start to feel like the person he was before all of this, someone new and someone bright. it'll always be there, though, the metaphorical gape in the left of his chest, begging to be filled with that  _special_ someone. 

on occasion, he'll find himself in the deep of the night clutching onto the edge of his blanket and burying his face in the cotton of his pillow, because the mind does as it pleases in the realms of sleep. he'll think about how wonderful it all felt, to be loved by someone so magnificent and then the downpour of reality will shake him till his pillow is soaked and he can't breathe. then he'll wake, after he finally submits to the deceiving arms of sleep, with remnants of what he felt and what had happened. 

he'll hate himself through all of it because he'll start to believe he was never that special to begin with, that he was just someone who was  _there_ , because in the end it'll never be him. so he'll live with that and let it sink dermal deep, let it fester and grow in the back of his mind. and when time heals the surfaces of his wounds, he'll find someone who will make him feel the exact same way, but he hopes that this time around they'll stay. 


	7. next question please

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a short inspired by hannah after we talked about the "if you do" asc episode where youngjae said he loved coco more and mark looked butt hurt
> 
> mark / youngjae

youngjae tugs on mark's sleeve, both of them sitting shoulder to shoulder in the back seat of the van. half of the other members are asleep and youngjae uses this opportunity to pry mark from the heinous arms of pettiness. _"hyung,"_ youngjae whispers, tugging a little harder on mark's sleeve. "i didn't mean it."

mark has his head pressed up against the glass, arms crossed and looking out the window. he hasn't given youngjae any sort of recognition, ignoring him since the show had ended; youngjae feels torn.

"it was just for show," youngjae tacks on.

"doesn't mean that it doesn't hurt," mark replies, soft and curt against the silence pressed between them. youngjae feels an ache in the center of his chest unfolding, prickling against his rib cage, making it hard to breathe.

"but you know that's not what i meant." youngjae drops his hands into his lap, folds them together and purses his lips. mark wasn't a force to be reckoned with when he was angry, and there wasn't much he could do so he fiddles with his thumbs and tries to calm his breathing.

however, sometime during the trip, when youngjae starts to feel the slow pull of sleep wrap around his shoulders and tug him down, he feels the gentle press of mark's hand against his head, the soft curve of his shoulder, and the comforting warmth of his hand enveloped in his.


	8. change of heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is inspired by every cliche 80's movie dance i've ever had the pleasure of watching
> 
> mark / youngjae

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> youngjae is aged up!  
> i actually died at the amount of cheese in my own drabble lmfao

it’s the senior dance. 

youngjae swoons, sighs heavily against the breadth of pause as he watches mark and his friends walk into the gym. his heart is palpitating against the small expanse of his chest and there’s this yearning that starts to kindle. his high school crush has him in the clutches of firsts and as he watches them make their way to the drink table, youngjae feels hope blossom. 

he’s leaning against the padded wall, hands laced across his thighs as he watches them bubble with laughter and look around. he shifts his weight onto his other foot, chews on the inside of his cheek and feels his heart linger on the edge of combustion. the music is lulling, a slow song that has youngjae wishing for those hands on his waist and that _gorgeous_ smile gracing him with just the tiniest bit of light. mark tuan, hands down the most beautiful guy youngjae’s ever had the encounter of ever seeing. however, youngjae finds himself facing the impending crowd of people who also seek out mark and wonders if he’ll ever be that lucky. 

the people standing beside him are plucked one by one and he finds himself left amongst three people. he feels embarrassment rub him raw at how pathetic he probably looks. he brushes a fallen tendril of hair out of his eye and combs it to the side with gentle fingers, feels his heart skip when he briefly locks eyes with the male. it’s quick, curt and enough to warm youngjae’s ears. mark takes a sip of his drink, keeps the gaze set between them and youngjae can’t hear the music over his wild heartbeat.

though, just as youngjae thinks about mustering up the courage to cross that distance and risk it all, the gaze is broken and mark is being dragged off in another direction. youngjae let’s out the breath he’d been holding, wipes his sweaty palms on his dress pants; his tie is too tight and he’s starting to feel his nerves fray.

after a few minutes of subtle searching youngjae forgoes the formalities of it all and finds himself wandering over to the food table, unwrapping a cupcake and stuffing it in his mouth, hoping it’d calm the erratic pulse of his heartbeat still wound up in mark’s eyes. this isn’t the first time but somehow it feels like it, and the many times he’s had to emotionally salvage himself after holds a record amount. and it’s not like they don’t really know each other, right? mark sits in front of youngjae in class and sure, they’ve been partners multiple times and _somehow_ he was able to scramble together sentences, but it still counts, right?

youngjae’s starting on his second cupcake, unbeknownst to the frosting on his nose when mark comes into view. he chokes down his bite, licks his lips and prays he doesn’t have any crumbs on the sides of his mouth. 

“hey,” mark says, the slight tug of a smile hinting at the corners of his lips. 

youngjae subtly clears his throat, mutters back a, “hey” in reply. 

“you have frosting—“ mark motions around his nose.

the warmth stems to youngjae’s cheeks as he fumbles for a napkin off the table to wipe his nose, mortified that mark had strong evidence of him divulging too greatly in his cupcake. “am i good?” youngjae asks through his apparent embarrassment.

mark lightly chuckles and stuffs his hands into his pants pockets, head cocked to the side. “you’re good.”

the silence between them grows and youngjae finds himself clutching onto his napkin in his hand for dear life, both of them billowing in the breeze of unsureness and wandering thought. youngjae doesn’t know how long his heart will be able to go on, every nerve in his body alive and buzzing in the presence of mark tuan, cutie extraordinaire. he wants to say something, ask him if he’s enjoying himself but the words get stuck and he’s choking down anxiety.

“are you…” mark pauses, brings a hand up to his neck and drops his gaze for a quick second; youngjae waits in drawn out anticipation. “here with someone?”

youngjae tries to breathe, feels a flutter in his stomach at the question, and says, “no.”

“oh, okay,” mark replies, gives a slight nod and the silence between them grows once more. 

youngjae digs this thumb nail into his forefinger, manages to get out an, “and you?”

“uh, no.” mark’s hand falls, finds its way back into his pocket—his staple look that always has youngjae swooning from the base of the school building as mark always leans against the brick wall every morning, his friends gathered around him. youngjae can never seem to catch a break, finds himself losing his footing on reality the longer mark stands in front of him. this always seems to happen, the constant heart pounding that has his chest on the verge of caving, his words that lose themselves in another dimension as he starts slipping into mark’s universe.

“oh, that’s good,” youngjae splutters, finds himself stumbling over his outward thought. “i mean—it’s not good you don’t have a date but i mean, good because now you know you’re not the only one?” he swallows. 

mark softly smiles, the one that makes youngjae’s knees weak and his mouth dry. “i was waiting for the right person to ask me,” he tacts on, pulls youngjae from the world he’s drifting into. 

“oh,” youngjae whispers, fingers grasping onto the end of his blazer sleeves in hopes it’ll save him from what he’s feeling. he tries to return the favor but he’s biting onto the bottom of his lip, because _of course_. it makes total sense that mark, the most sought out guy in school, would want the right person to ask him to the dance; he feels envy and solace fill him to the brim. “that makes sense.”

and there it is, that same silence youngjae has encountered many times before this, and he should find it uncomfortable or awkward but there’s a comfort in it. maybe it’s being in mark’s presence or how he makes him feel things that he doesn’t feel with anyone else. he knows it won’t last a minute longer so he clutches onto that silence and swallows down false hope and gathers whatever bits of courage that grow in his garden of hesitation.

“i was—“

“do you—” they both start, wide-eyed and youngjae’s chest constricts. 

“you first.” youngjae waves

mark runs a hand through his hair, tugs on a small strand before he says, “i was hoping you’d ask me actually.”

“ _oh_.” youngjae breathes. he thinks about what mark had said once more, repeats it a few more times before it starts to make sense and feels excitement brew. goosebumps litter across the expanse of his skin and there’s this rush of gold at the base of his neck that makes him curl with pleasure. 

“is that a good bad ‘oh’ or…?” mark gazes at him in question, a look in his eyes that has youngjae tripping over his self doubt. 

“i was hoping you’d ask me,” youngjae clarifies, chuckling at their lack of communication. suddenly all the expectations from before don’t matter and youngjae’s small bit of hope flourishes into something tender and radiant, something he can handle. 

mark’s lip quirk into that same smile from earlier, the one that got lost in surprise, and it’s even brighter than before; youngjae feels winded. “it seems we were both waiting on each other then.”

“it seems so.”

mark takes a step closer to youngjae, the distance between them closing in and youngjae considers it fate when a slow song starts. “what were you going to say?” he asks, takes his other hand out of his pocket and let’s it dangle by his side. youngjae tries not to stare at the fine features of mark’s face, how there is just the faintest bit of a rosy glow tinging the highpoint of his cheeks. it instills confidence within him. 

“do you want to dance?” he rushes, feels his heart in his throat and almost chokes from anticipation. 

mark’s laugh fills the air, saccharine to youngjae’s ears and alleviating the pressure he feels on his chest. “i would love to,” he answers and holds his hand out for youngjae. 

youngjae haphazardly stuffs the napkin in his pocket and subtly wipes his hand on his pants before placing it in mark’s. he offers a smile and finds himself blooming with warmth when mark gives his hand a slight squeeze, making his heart do one final leap. and it’s almost sweet, youngjae had never expected it, the way their hands fit so explicably well.


	9. [M] you have touched me, and i have grown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> mark and youngjae share another one of their firsts
> 
> mark / youngjae

youngjae glances at mark from across the small space separated between them on the bed and traces the meridians of his face, the curve of his eyes as his eyelashes softly flutter like the slow bat of a butterfly’s wings. he dips down the edge of mark’s nose and settle’s upon the bow of his lips and thinks about how much nicer they would look when they whisper tender words against his ear, how saccharine they would sound. the honey suckle sweet he tastes whenever they press their lips close, plush and warm against one another as gold dust litter at the base of youngjae’s neck and spread throughout, the muted glow in his chest brightening inside the cages of his ribs, tender vines of love wrapping around each one and pulling him open.

mark notices the flicker of hesitation in the younger’s eyes; the glaze of newfound experiences hindering them from crossing the barrier settled between them so but mark reaches out, fingers spelled across youngjae’s knee cap as he fills that pause with something a little more personal. 

and when youngjae breathes, slow like the pull of the ocean as it licks at the edge of the shore, his lungs fill to the brim with a blooming sense of warmth and solace, the very essence of mark alluring, and his mind fogs the longer they exchange silent words of promise. truth will seep from the tips of mark’s fingers as they graze across the expanse of his skin, nimble in their nature when they skitter across the edge of youngjae’s shirt, splaying against the soft of his stomach. they warm the longer they’re pressed against his skin, slowly wrapping around to the small of youngjae’s back to press him closer, _deeper_ into the oblivion they face at the edge of their galaxy. 

mark whispers his name, breath warm against his lips and igniting a rush of anticipation to run through him, to settle deep and fray the edges of his patience. the longer mark kisses him, the more it wears thin and the more he unfolds in his tender graces, pliable underneath his very touch. it happens much like the first time, and the next, and the more youngjae grows accustomed to the way mark traces patterns across his skin, marks the spots of him he finds not worthy with the soft brush of his lips and words that permeate within, and loves him in ways he never thought possible, the more he _feels_ it.  

they’ve never gotten farther than this, the harmony of their kisses and the tempo of their touch creating a symphony in the piece that are their firsts. mark is careful— like a delicate breeze that tousles the tips of a lavender field, the strands billowing softly in a wave-like pattern across the horizon. mark puts youngjae’s needs above his own, offers a reassuring hand and litters the space between them with questions of wonder and sureness; youngjae has never felt so _special_. 

mark’s other hand rests at the waistband of youngjae’s shorts, rubs his thumb against the cloth as he quickens the pace of their kiss. there’s this yearning pitted deep within and it’s something youngjae wants to explore, to delve into its fathomless pit and bring mark along for the ride. they’ll be consumed in the depths of his wants with hands reaching out into the darkness, but they’ll still find each other and trace the patterns of their relationship across each others skin. youngjae will write stories across mark, with dialogue along his spine and sweet prose against his lips, and mark will write poems on youngjae, verses of unbounded love and happiness, poems that spoke like the sun and its impending need to bring warmth and happiness to everything it touches. 

mark lightly nips at youngjae’s bottom lip before pressing his lips against his once more, a brief pause in the interlude of their novel when mark asks, “can i?”

youngjae’s head swells as goosebumps litter themselves across the landscapes of his body, the peaks of his frame as they hang themselves up in the gala of obscurity and divine revelation. mark’s breath is warm against his cheek, the high points of his cheeks tinged a red only youngjae knows exists in the palette of mark’s features, how this shade only blooms to life when they’re painting masterpieces with billowing touches and eager hands; youngjae nods, slow and sure. 

mark is gentle, reassuring in his touch as he slowly dips him down onto the cushion of the bed. youngjae’s legs slightly dangle off the edge as mark pulls away, hovering above him. the dim light filtering in through the curtains of mark’s bedroom subtly splay across the features of his face and it’s _warm_ , makes youngjae want to reach out and hold all of him. 

mark leans on one hand as the other slips under the band of his shorts, and youngjae wonders if this is what he expected to happen, was _hoping_ would happen when he decided to not wear underwear this morning. the smug grin on mark’s face when he realizes this has youngjae swallowing, his ears warming the longer they keep their gaze locked, and when mark wraps his hand around youngjae the small sound that escapes his lips has him gleaming. 

youngjae has only ever felt mark through the thin cotton of their clothes, the bow of his lips against his and the way they sometimes sleep shirtless together when the summer days run too hot and they can’t be bothered with material things. though, youngjae has never felt the gentle work of mark’s fingers against him, jerking him off slowly before running his thumb over the tip. it’s new, _different_ , and something he’ll have no problem getting used to but this becomes a step in their relationship greater than that of mankind and their fascination with the moon. 

when mark tightens his grip just a bit, youngjae’s breathy sighs become a little more vocal, small in their nature but all the more resonating against the enclosed walls of their safe space. he should be embarrassed, should find the captivating glaze that’s pouring out of mark’s eyes to be of the upmost hindering in any way, but there’s something odd at how it leaves him feeling wanted—how even in moments like these mark still finds him just as beautiful. 

youngjae’s hands fist in the comforter when mark picks up his tempo, does things that leave him feeling wracked and unable to form coherent sentences while the only sounds that escape his mouth are the moans that beg for mark to go a little faster. he bites onto his bottom lip, aware of the feeling that starts to bloom at the base of his spine. he reaches out, fingers grasping onto the cotton of mark’s shirt that hang off his shoulders and let’s out a mewl. 

“come for me, youngjae.” mark’s cheeks are flushed, his words almost forgotten amongst the sounds that fill their silence to the brim and spill over the edge of their firsts. a drawn out moan escapes as he finally comes in mark’s hand, eyes shut and phosphenes littering his vision; mark let’s him ride it out and when youngjae’s sated he pulls his hand back out and chooses a random shirt on the ground to be the victim of the aftermath. 

youngjae’s grip loosens as his arms fall back to his side and he feels the soft press of mark’s lips against the corner of his mouth. “what about you?” he murmurs, pleasure still surging through his veins, his fingers searching for marks to hold. “it’s not fair.” 

mark lightly chuckles, brushes the bangs back from youngjae’s face and simply says, “it’s okay. maybe next time.” youngjae feels something stir inside him at the mention of ‘ _next time_ ’ because it implies mark will want more, that this won't just be a one time thing between them. it reaffirms his belief that mark will always love him and want him in more ways than just one, that he means much more than that; youngjae has never felt such peace and _love_ —his heart swells at the idea of it all. 

“hmm,” youngjae hums, feeling sleepy and languid against the soft of the bed. “next time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg i finally wrote something not g rated  
> thank you to the people who commented on this the last couple days ;; you guys really gave me some confidence to write again and i love you immensely for it.


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